Della was five foot nothing, but she was a force to be reckoned with. She was in her mid-50s, had short dark brown hair, glasses and brown eyes as cold as January at the North Pole. Hailing from Mississippi, Della still retained her strong southern drawl, even though she had lived in South Dakota for over 20 years. She was clad in her usual attire, which looked as if it had been pulled from the rag bag. She wore green sweat pants tucked into black snow boots even though there was no snow or any type of precipitation on the ground. Her unzipped tan winter coat revealed a V-neck hospital-type smock with cartoon dogs all over it. Unfortunately, this was one of her better work outfits. As she turned to the side, Marlee saw that Della’s hair on the back of her head stood up in a rooster tail, suggesting that she had not washed or even combed her hair that morning.
“Did you come from the parking lot?” Della demanded, standing much too close to Marlee when she spoke. Marlee nodded and asked if she knew anything about the body in front of Scobey Hall.
“It’s Logan LeCroix,” Della said. “They found Logan dead outside our building this morning.”
I wanted a change of pace from California, and hoped returning to South Dakota–the desolate but serene area where I spent summers with my grandparents–would be the change I was looking for. The plan was for me to start my new teaching career at MSU and, later on, my partner Joe would join me. If all went well Joe and I would look at making the move permanent.
Of course, this was contingent on the hope that Joe and I could repair our twenty-two year relationship.
Chapter 2
“How do you know it’s Logan?” Marlee nearly shrieked.
“Earl Dingus told me,” Della replied, obviously enjoying that she had information on the campus tragedy that Marlee did not.
Goddamned Dingus, he didn’t tell me dick and then shooed me off to the Student Union, thought Marlee. It irked her that Della was able to get information from a little piss-ant like Earl Dingus when she could not.
“I saw Logan’s car on campus but didn’t take that to mean anything,” Marlee muttered more to herself than Della. “So what happened? Was it an accident? Did he have a heart attack?” Questions were rolling around in Marlee’s mind faster than she could process them. She could barely take in all the information that had developed in the past twenty minutes: a death on campus, and the victim was a fellow professor.
“I don’t know what happened. Nobody knows at this point,” Della said matter-of-factly, indicating that if anyone had an idea of the cause of Logan’s death, she would surely know about it. She was relishing her new role as disseminator of information.
Although new to the MSU campus, Logan LeCroix had already become a well-known figure to faculty, administration and students. Standing barely five feet five inches tall, he was a shy, introverted man with a gentle way about him. Still, he had become a fast favorite on the campus because of his kindness and willingness to help others. His short wavy brown hair set off a light brown complexion and dark brown eyes. His mannerisms were best described as effeminate and, although he never spoke of his sexuality, he fit many of the gay stereotypes. Of course, any male who does not fit the rugged manly-man type of the northern plains can at some point be considered a homosexual, whether he is or not.
Logan made other professors on campus appear lethargic by comparison. Not only did he teach his required four courses per semester, but he had also agreed to take on French classes at the local high school, since the long time French teacher at Elmwood High unexpectedly retired over the summer after being stricken with an undiagnosed brain disorder. Thus, the high school had an immediate opening for a French teacher, and they were unable to fill it. The principal at Elmwood High School called the MSU Languages Department to see if they had any suggestions for a last-minute French teacher. Logan had been in Elmwood for only a couple of weeks before school began and was approached about adding the two high school classes onto his already heavy teaching load. The MSU community came to realize that accepting this added load was indicative of Logan’s approach to life: if someone needed help, he was there to do all he could.
Della and Marlee walked into the Student Union, a recently remodeled building which housed meeting rooms, the Counseling Center, the Nurse’s Office, Student Affairs, and a variety of other offices on the top floor; the main floor was a breeze-way of sorts, allowing students to quickly move from one end of the Student Union to the other. The interior of the building smelled like a combination of fried food, stale air, burnt coffee and body odor. In a corner on the main floor was an activity area with a pool table and several overstuffed chairs and couches. The entry and main floor served as an ideal area for Career Fairs, voter registration, bake sales and other activities seeking the attention of as many students as possible. The lower level housed the cafeteria, dining area and kitchen, the book store and the campus post office. Off in a corner was a large room dedicated to dances, festivals and campus-wide meetings. It included a coffee bar and snack shop. Considering all the services provided in the Student Union, most students frequented the building daily, especially those living on campus.
Della and Marlee found their way to a table in the dining room which was already occupied by a few of the other early arrivals on campus. Their new dean, Dr. Ira Green, sat at one end of the long dining table. Dean Green, or Mean Dean Green, as he was nicknamed shortly after beginning at MSU, was an imposing figure. A loud, outspoken man, he stood six foot three and, from a side angle, was reminiscent of Yogi Bear. His large stomach was enhanced by his loose fitting tan slacks belted only slightly below his armpits. Dean Green was in his late sixties and originally hailed from New York. Most recently, he had been a professor at a large university in Ohio. He and his wife decided it was time for a change of pace, both in terms of location and work duties. When Green was hired as Dean of the College of Arts and Sciences at MSU, he and his wife were happy to make the move. He was settling in to his new role although, to some, it appeared to be a bit of a bumpy transition. Green was abrupt and frequently quite tactless, which put him at odds with many of the reserved residents of Elmwood.
“What’s going on?” Marlee asked Dean Green as she strode right up to his chair. Normally, Marlee kept her distance from the dean, but this was a far from normal situation.
“LeCroix’s dead,” he said bluntly. “We don’t know what happened.”
“Was he sick? Or hurt? What do you think happened?” Marlee pushed on with her questions.
“The president’s office is still trying to track down his next of kin to notify them of Logan’s death. Maybe a relative can tell us if he had a heart condition, or some other type of disease,” said Dean Green in his usual gruff voice.
“What are we supposed to do about our classes today?” Della asked, already angling for a reason to get out of teaching.
“Carry on as usual until we hear otherwise,” barked Dean Green who was not a fan of canceling classes unnecessarily. “Keep to your regular schedules.”
“Well, what do we tell our students? They’ll find out soon, if they don’t already know about Logan’s death,” Marlee said.
“We can’t tell them anything if we don’t know anything,” Dean Green pointed out with a look that implied that “dumbass” should have been added at the end of his sentence.
“Should we refer them to counseling if they are having problems dealing with Logan’s death? Even if they didn’t know him, it’s still a huge shock to have someone die on campus,” stated Marlee.
“No, I don’t think counseling is the answer here. Actually I don’t think counseling is ever an answer,” said Dean Green. “I went to counseling once, and it didn’t do a fuckin’ thing for me,” he growled, looking Marlee right in the eye as if to challenge her.
Marlee backed down, realizing that Dean Green was definitely not going to be overly sympathetic towards the students, faculty or staff on campus. Perhaps he was used to dealing with on-campus deaths at his previous university and found this
to be a semi-regular occurrence. Even Della, the Queen of the Inappropriate, seemed taken aback by his callous demeanor and crass remarks.
Alexander Sherkov, Professor of Russian Language and Studies in the MSU Modern Languages Department, arrived at Marlee’s table and joined the group. Professor Sherkov was a tall, attractive man with a head of thick brown hair. The bags beneath his light blue eyes suggested he had pulled an all-nighter in preparing for his classes or working on a new research grant. Not the most rigorous professor in terms of making students actually work, Alexander was well liked and also had the distinction of being a tenured full professor; therefore, his lack of rigor in the classroom could be overlooked since he had already jumped through enough hoops to justify his position. He was far ahead of the pack of other professors in the Modern Languages Department in securing outside grant money and performing various types of research, which also served to keep administrators off his back. The holy trinity in the academic world is teaching, research and service. Although MSU claimed teaching was the most valued of the three at their university, bad teaching could easily be trumped by great research, especially if it was backed up by outside grant money.
“What’s going on?” asked Alexander. “I couldn’t get into our building and was sent over here.”
Marlee, Della, and Dean Green all took turns providing Alexander with the known details of the situation, which gave him a somewhat clearer picture of what was going on, at least as clear a picture as they had. Just then, Alice Olson walked in looking ashen and shaky. She slowly lowered her short, compact frame into a chair at the long table and rested her head in her hands, as if in disbelief. Alice was on her twelfth year as secretary for the department that housed Modern Languages, Speech, and English. She was in her late fifties with a kind nature and a naïve take on life. Alice never had a bad word for or about anyone, which endeared her to a number of people on campus. Refraining from negativity is nearly unheard of on a college campus where rumor, innuendo and outright lies are common sport among the faculty, administration and staff. Alice’s dark brown eyes were red and puffy, and her thick-lensed glasses were smudged and sitting somewhat askew on her nose. Her graying blonde hair was cut short and was usually neatly groomed, but today it was standing up in the front, as if Alice had repeatedly run her hands through her hair in despair upon hearing the news. She and Logan were close. She was his first friend when he moved to Elmwood. Logan was forever giving Alice compliments, which meant she would move heaven and earth for him. He didn’t treat her like she was just a secretary, as did many of the other faculty members. She provided hours of extra assistance in getting Logan set up in his new office, which was located just a stone’s throw from her own.
Marlee noted that everyone at the table seemed to be in a state of shock, but each handled it in his or her own way. The only one of them who seemed to be acting strangely was Dean Green, but this was not out of character for him. He didn’t get the nickname Mean Dean Green by being a playful little kitten.
A few more professors and secretaries joined the long table where Marlee and the others were seated. It was now nearly 8:00 a.m., so there would be the normal buzz of activity as employees arrived on campus and made their way to their offices. Students went to their early classes or to breakfast, if they were up and dared to set foot outside in the chilly morning. A few students walked by Marlee’s table and looked quizzically at her and the others. Word was quickly making its way from one person to another, and soon the whole campus and the whole town of Elmwood would know of Logan’s death.
Kendra Rolland, Vice President of Academic Affairs, approached the table and pulled Dean Green away for a few moments. Kendra sported a shaggy, dark brown hairdo reminiscent of the 1970s, which happened to be very “in” at the moment. She was dressed in a sage green suit and black heels. She was well-liked on campus because of her friendly nature and her diligence in getting work done, although most of her subordinates dreaded the meetings she chaired because they were unnecessarily long. Other than that, Kendra was a great spokesperson for MSU.
After she and Dean Green conferred privately for a few minutes, they approached the table of about twelve faculty and staff. Kendra and Dean Green looked at each other for a moment, and then Kendra said in a trembling voice, “The police found a gun.”
I loved my students, and I loved teaching them. I gained energy from their enthusiasm, their questions, their liveliness. Students in California had entitlement issues. They expected to be treated as a customer who had paid for a service. If they did not like their grade or the way I taught a class, they felt no hesitation in approaching me and asking for changes. The students at MSU were different. They were respectful and seemed to genuinely want to learn.
The last thing I ever wanted was for any of them to see me lying in a pool of my own blood in front of Scobey Hall.
Chapter 3
“A gun!” yelled Marlee and Della in unison. Kendra nodded her shaggy head as an affirmation that they had heard correctly.
“Where was it?” Marlee asked, quickly gaining her composure enough to realize she had someone in her presence with actual information. She wanted to get as much detail from Kendra as humanly possible before she disappeared back into her administrative bubble that was impenetrable for most faculty members, especially to assistant professors without tenure.
“We don’t know yet. The police haven’t released any details other than that at this time,” replied Kendra. Then she turned and busily walked toward her office located upstairs in the Student Union.
Marlee and her table mates were astounded and just looked at each other for a full minute before everyone burst into a stream of questions.
“Where was the gun?”
“Who would have left the gun there?”
“Who would want to kill Logan?”
“Is there a killer out there?”
“Are we all in danger?”
“Do you think he shot himself?” asked Alexander in a tentative voice.
“What? No!” shouted Alice as she violently pushed back her chair and rose to her feet. “Why would he kill himself? He was happy, and he liked it here. He’s not the type to commit suicide!” Alice was still reeling from the shock of Logan’s death, the death of her friend. She could not bear to think he would take his own life in front of the building where he worked.
“Well, who is the type to commit suicide?” asked Dean Green in a demanding tone. Tears ran down Alice’s cheeks as she struggled to make sense of what had happened on the quiet, uneventful campus where she loved working.
Everyone at the table turned toward Marlee. Not that she was an expert on suicide, but she taught in the Criminal Justice Department and had a fair amount of expertise and insight into human behavior. Marlee felt put on the spot. She was not quick on her feet when surprised with questions. She liked to have time to think about them, and ponder the variety of possible answers before responding. The last thing Marlee wanted to do was to come off half-cocked like many of the so-called experts on television talk shows. Those pundits were responsible for more falsehoods and speculation than Marlee cared to think about. She knew that anything she said on this topic could be spread all over campus in a nanosecond.
Marlee cleared her throat and said, “Well, under the right circumstances, anyone could commit suicide.”
“Bullshit!” trumpeted Dean Green. “I’ve thought about killing a lot of people in my, life but I never thought about killing myself. Suicide is for the weak, the nutcases of society.”
“Waaaaaait a minute,” drawled Della Halter in her loud, obnoxious voice. Marlee dreaded what she would say, not because it would be factually inaccurate, but because Della had the tact of a bulldozer. It would not be surprising, if in her zeal to communicate facts on suicide, she inadvertently pissed off everyone at the table, including the dean. “Studies show that people commit suicide for a variety of reasons. It’s not always because someone is unstable.”
Alice thre
w her hands to her ears and shouted, “I don’t want to hear any more about suicide. Logan wouldn’t do it!”
Dean Green shook his head as if overwhelmed. Never mind the death on campus, which appeared to be the result of a gunshot wound, Dean Green was stymied as to how to keep the faculty and staff from the College of Arts and Sciences under control. He muttered something about talking to the president and stalked off.
Marlee put her arm around Alice’s shoulders in an attempt to comfort her. “I seriously doubt Logan killed himself, Alice. I don’t know what happened, but I’ll bet anything he didn’t commit suicide,” she said intently. She didn’t know where her strong resolve came from on the issue, but at the core of her being, she knew this was not a suicide.
The question remained: what happened to Logan LeCroix?
It was nearing 10:00 a.m., and Marlee’s first class was coming up. Intro to Criminal Justice. She did not feel as though she could teach the class after the shock of Logan’s death and the uncertainty as to why and how he died. She made her way to the Putnam building and entered the room where her next two classes were held. Several students were already in the classroom and were discussing the death. No one knew the story, but most people had bits and pieces. Some of these bits and pieces were actually true, and some were wild speculation or altogether inaccurate. Marlee began class in her usual manner by announcing, “Okay, good morning. Let’s get started.” Instead of launching into a brief recap of previous lecture material or making general announcements about upcoming tests or quizzes, Marlee stated, “By now, I’m sure most of you have heard about the death on campus.”
A non-traditional female student in the back looked taken aback and looked side to side to see if anyone else was shocked by the news. She raised her hand and asked, “What happened? I don’t live on campus, and this is the first I’m hearing about it.”
Day of the Dead Page 2
